Margaret leaned out of her apartment window. Mrs Catalan's apartment window was only three meters away, but Mrs Catalan's scorn lay heavy on Margaret's shoulders. "You should have married my Steve," she's shout across the way. "He's a good lad. Goes to church, you know."Prayer beads were no substitute for love beads, not with the way Steve used them. Margaret's throat still ached. She levered the ladder out from her window to the ledge across the way. When one found oneself suddenly single, one had to get used to doing things by oneself.Well, Steve had a new home now for three-to-five years. Amazing how easy it was to find new housing when the cops caught you in Intent to Sell. Was it Coban or Armand who slipped that little packet into his jacket?Mrs Catalan blamed Margaret for that as well, even if she had no proof.Ever-so-carefully, Margaret made her way across the makeshift scaffold to Mrs Catalan's window. The nasty old biddy was out that afternoon.A liberal squirt of Liquid Nails along the window frame ensured it would never open again. The rattle of mixer beads in the can of blackout paint sang sweetly in her ears.Rightly so, Mrs Catalan would blame her for this bit of vandalism.Margaret could afford the indemnity if it meant those accusing eyes would never accost her again.________________________________Her Grace might stick with novel.